This painting by Louis is one of my favorites. He gave me permission to post it here. Ted Kooser's poem fits it nicely even though it is not warm enough for night steam yet. West of Omaha the freshly plowed fields steam in the night like lakes. The smell of the earth floods over the roads. The field mice are moving their nests to the higher ground of fence rows, the old among them crying out to the owls to take them all. The paths in the grass are loud with the squeak of their carts. They keep their lanterns covered.

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